


sweet things

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek is a doting uncle, M/M, Stiles owns a candy store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek pauses at the entrance to the candy store, his niece and nephew cackling with unconstrained glee as they rush off to examine the shelves bursting with sweets. He stops, only because there’s a guy dressed as Willy Wonka behind the till—of the Gene Wilder variety, and not the terrifying Johnny Depp variety, thank <i>god</i>—and he’s smiling brightly at Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet things

“Greetings and salutations!”

Derek pauses at the entrance to the candy store, his niece and nephew cackling with unconstrained glee as they rush off to examine the shelves bursting with sweets. He stops, only because there’s a guy dressed as Willy Wonka behind the till—of the Gene Wilder variety, and not the terrifying Johnny Depp variety, thank _god_ —and he’s smiling brightly at Derek.

“How can I help you and your sweet tooth, today?” He shimmies, _shimmies_ out from behind the counter, purple velvet coat swaying around him, and tips his hat at Derek. Close up, Derek can see big brown eyes, sweeping eyelashes and a pretty Cupid’s bow mouth. It’s an appealing combination, until he looks away from the entrancing face and takes in the bright red bow tie and yellow waistcoat.

“My niece and nephew,” he jerks an arm at them, “I promised they could get some candy before they go home.”

“Ha,” the guy laughs, claps his hands together, “Send them home high on sugar, your sister or brother will be calling you later with complaints.”

Derek shrugs, “My sister woke me up at six thirty this morning demanding I babysit for the day—not that I mind,” he tacks on hastily, “But, I was sleeping.”

“I totally understand,” the guy nods as if he does, quirks a smile at him and _oh_ , Derek’s maybe reconsidering his decision to write the guy off when he does that with his mouth. That curvy, pretty, _sincere_ thing Derek’s never been able to make his own lips do. Mostly, he just glowers at people. Unless it’s Alex or Faye. Speaking of whom…

“Faye, you absolutely cannot have that lollipop! It’s the size of your head. I said something you could carry.”

The guy laughs, darts over to where Derek’s six year old niece is trying to pull a giant Chuppa Chupp off the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Derek grunts, prying her hands away.

“No biggie, I’d totally go for the biggest thing in the shop, too,” the guy winks at him and Derek feels himself flush.

“Uncle Derek—” Alex waves a chocolate Santa at him, “Can I please have this?”

“Of course,” Derek gestures to the counter, “You want a lift up, help me pay?”

Alex nods solemnly, and Derek bends to scoop him up, rest him on his hip and heads for the counter. The guy’s moved back to the till, and he grins widely at Alex.

“What can I do for you, young sir?”

Alex brandishes the Santa at him, “Can I buy this, please?”

“I don’t know,” the guy rests his elbows on the counter, arches an eyebrow at Alex, “Can you?”

Derek snorts, and Alex frowns at him, perplexed.

“Here,” Derek takes mercy on his young nephew, fishes out his wallet, “Give the man this—and see if it appeases his desire to confuse four year olds.”

“The man is Stiles,” the guy straightens up, takes the five dollar bill Alex waves at him, “And, I’m very much appeased,” he grins at Derek before glancing at Alex again. “Would you like a bag, my friend?”

Alex nods, “Thank you.”

“Stiles?” Derek echoes a few moments later, as Alex scrambles down from his arms and away, into the depths of the shop to find Faye.

“ _Yep_ ,” Stiles pops the ‘p’, smirks at Derek, “Easier to pronounce than anything else my _hilarious_ parents gave me for a title to walk through life with.”

“Derek,” Derek says thoughtlessly, and then scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“I figured from the Uncle Derek, although,” Stiles holds his palms out, “You might have a really awful first name, too, and have ingrained it in your relatives to call you Derek, instead.”

“Why would I have chosen _Derek_?”

Stiles snickers, “You don’t really strike me as the type to go for something like Mercutio.”

“I could surprise you,” Derek insists and then clamps his mouth shut, because that sounded an awful lot like his _flirtatious_ tone. He hasn’t used that tone sincerely in a very long time. 

“Oh, I bet,” Stiles beams at him, waves a jar of candy canes at him, “You want?”

Derek takes one, eyes it suspiciously, “What’s in it?”

“The hopes and dreams of small children,” Stiles crunches down on his own. Derek notices he has very nice teeth. And lips. Which he’s now wrapping around the candy cane and sucking at casually.

Derek becomes suddenly fascinated with the display of jelly beans behind Stiles’ head.

“Uncle Derek!” He jerks to attention, looks across the store to where Faye’s holding a gigantic package of marshmallows. “Can I have these, please?”

“Sure, princess, bring ‘em here.”

Stiles pulls his candy cane out, and Derek absolutely refuses to register and save for later how red and wet and shiny his lips look. He instead focuses on his niece, on giving her the correct money and helping her take the bag from Stiles.

He is a _very bad uncle_ for coming into sweet stores and lusting after strangers.

Stiles is nodding to a story Faye’s telling him about Derek teaching her how to roast marshmallows on a camping vacation last year, and he glances at Derek over Faye’s head, eyes crinkled and soft.

“Sounds like a pretty cool uncle.”

Faye nods seriously, “Unless you wake him up before he says to.”

“Well, everyone gets pretty cranky in the morning.”

“You’re not allowed to jump on him.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Stiles replies solemnly, winking at Derek again.

Derek feels his hands begin to sweat, and pulls Faye down off the counter before she starts telling Stiles any other mortifying secrets about him.

“Happy Holidays,” Stiles calls brightly after them as they leave, “Have a sweet Christmas!”

Derek can’t help snorting at the pun, glances over his shoulder to see Stiles biting his lip, grinning at him.

“You too,” he manages, grabbing Faye’s hand and stepping out into the snow.

*

Over Christmas, Derek goes back to the candy store three times. Twice with Faye and Alex swinging on his arms and vibrating with excitement as they get close enough to smell the pine fresh wood of the shelves and the sugar drifting from the sweet selection, and once by himself.

Stiles is dressed as an elf. He has actual elf ears that wiggle as he directs a mom and her toddler towards the chocolate advent calendars.

Derek tries, and fails, not to appreciate his ass in tight green shorts. He doesn’t even hide the laugh that startles out as his gaze drops lower and he sees Stiles is wearing red and white stripy socks that go to his knees.

“Derek!” Stiles bounces over to him, “Where’re the kids?”

“At home,” Derek shakes snow out of his hair, “My sister had a breakdown over some episode of The West Wing last night, and ate all of Alex’s Christmas candy. She’s sent me out on an emergency supply run.”

Stiles laughs brightly, and the bell atop his hat jingles pleasantly. Stiles has a nice laugh. He throws his head back, exposes his pale, long throat and makes Derek’s toes tingle.

God, he’s spending too much time around sugar, it’s seeping into his pores.

“Got any reindeer left?”

“Well,” Stiles claps his hands together, leans into Derek conspiratorially, “I technically don’t, but,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “I guess I could have one, in the back, kept aside to eat on my couch in front of Classic ESPN later.”

Derek frowns, “I can’t ask you to give up your own… reindeer.” He feels ridiculous even having this conversation. A chocolate reindeer. Laura owes him so much for this.

“It’s cool,” Stiles shrugs, “I’m trynna make sure my dad stays on this super healthy diet, anyway. I should set a good example.”

Derek looks around, smirks when he glances back at Stiles, “When you work here?”

“Hey!” Stiles pats his stomach, “I do just fine. Besides, I’m sweet enough without excess sugar, right?”

Derek snorts, “Does that one ever work?”

“I dunno,” Stiles leans towards him, eyes him coyly, “How’s it going, now?”

“Badly,” Derek says in a strangled voice, aware of how close Stiles is, and how fast his heart is beating.

“Hmm,” Stiles flits away, disappears through the door behind the counter before reappearing, brandishing a chocolate reindeer. “Does this help my case?”

“Marginally,” Derek rifles through his wallet, peeks a glance at Stiles through his lashes, “Your dad live in the city?”

“Nah, just outside, he and my mom moved when they had me.” Stiles gestures around, “My mom used to own this place, and uh—it was a clothes shop, then a coffee shop, and now… it’s a sweet shop again.”

“You came back after college?”

“You think I look old enough to have finished college?”

Derek baulks, and Stiles laughs, “I am, and yeah, yeah I did. I wanted to be,” he coughs, cheeks pink and eyes bright as he looks at Derek, “I wanted something close to my mom after she died.”

“Oh,” Derek blinks at him in surprise, feels a wave of empathy, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles hunches up a shoulder, quirks a sad smile at him, “Yeah, thanks.”

Wordlessly, Derek drops his hand on top of Stiles’ where it’s resting on the counter, squeezes it for a moment.

Stiles’ fingers twitch up against his, and he clears his throat after a moment, tightens his fingers round Derek’s before letting go. “Still,” he waves around, “She’s here.”

Derek nods shortly, unsure of what to say next, “Alex and Faye love this place,” he says finally, “You’d have made her really happy with it.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide and he smiles suddenly, dazzlingly, and Derek can’t help but smile back in the face of it.

“Thank you,” Stiles says softly, handing over the reindeer, “That one’s on the house.”

“I should—”

“Nah, seriously,” Stiles waves him away, “Go, tell your sister an amazing elf of Santa’s gave you that—and tell all her friends about me, too. And your friends! If you… have any?”

Derek narrows his eyes at him, “I have friends.”

“Sure.”

“I do.”

Stiles follows him towards the door, ushers him away from it so he can open it, and bow Derek out, “Of course.”

“I—” Derek glares, “You’re a highly irritating person.”

“Hey, that’s why I need _you_ to tell all _your_ friends about my shop, I don’t have any of my own to come buy sweets.”

“I find that unlikely,” Derek stalls, lingering in the doorway.

Stiles glances up, smirks as Derek does the same, “I don’t keep mistletoe, it’s too cliché.”

“But, wearing an elf costume for Christmas is—”

“Holiday spirit,” Stiles rocks into him and Derek sucks in a breath, “Merry Christmas, Derek.”

“Merry Christmas,” he says in a strangled voice, and then half trips into the snowy street, eyes fixed on Stiles’ smile.

*

“Hey, hey, no!” Laura slaps Derek’s hand away from where it’s edging towards her fresh batch of brownies. Across the table, Cora smirks at him and bites into the one she managed to snatch before Laura spotted them.

Derek scowls, “Cora has one!”

“Tell tale,” Cora points at him, “You’ll never find someone to love if you’re a known nark, Derek.”

“Because that’s right up there along with personal hygiene and a sense of humor,” Derek huffs, “Not being a nark.”

Cora shrugs, “Duh.”

“Enough,” Laura slams another batch of brownies down, shoves one at Derek, “I’m behind and it’s only the second of January. Instead of bickering, maybe you two could be the siblings I believe you can be, and help me?!”

Derek takes an apologetic bite of brownie, and tries not to look too delighted by it. Laura rolls her eyes.

“Can you open up, please? Give me five to finish these off, and Cora can you go see if the kids are up, if they need feeding? There’s Cheerios in the cupboard.”

“I know what to give my own niece and nephew for breakfast, Laura,” Cora chides, picking up three more brownies.

“No!” Laura smacks her fingers gently. “Derek’s already been plying them with candy every week since he discovered the cute guy that works there—”

“He is _not_ cute,” Derek interrupts, “He’s always in a ridiculous costume, I can’t actually tell if he’s that cute.”

“So, you’re stalking him until you can figure it out?” Cora snorts, “Smooth as always, bro.”

“Shut up! It’s not stalking!”

“Regardless!” Laura cries, “Alex and Faye come home _every_ Saturday hyped up on the shit from that shop, and either you need to ask him out, or find someone cute at wholefoods.”

Derek glares at the table top and Laura nudges his shoulder, “Derek, the front door?”

“Fine,” he snaps, “But, I’m not being nice to any customers.”

“Heavens,” Laura clutches her chest, “It hadn’t even crossed my mind to waste my breath asking.”

Contrary to his warning, Derek actually is pleasant and friendly to Laura’s customers. He knows how important the bakery is to her, and he doesn’t want to frighten anyone away. He’s used to being affable, working at the gallery has given him social skills he never wanted to acquire before, but has done so anyway. He likes art. He likes seeing someone’s reaction to a portrait, or a painting and their expression as they absorb it for the first time. He’s seen more genuine falling in love reactions working with art, than he ever has on a movie screen.

Erica and Boyd drop in on their way to work, Boyd on his phone but leaning across the counter to clap Derek on the back in hello. Erica yells greetings to the back of the shop, buys a couple of crusty rolls and persuades Derek to get her a brownie before they’re officially for sale. He takes two, because he needs sustenance if he’s apparently working for free for the morning. Laura’s lucky he has Mondays off.

“Hey there,” he looks up from adjusting the lemon cupcakes and blinks over the counter at Stiles.

Stiles beams at him, “You’ve got a little—” he gestures to his cheek and Derek swipes at his own.

“Hazards of the job,” Derek mutters, feeling how hot his skin is and hoping Stiles writes it off as heat from the ovens.

“This is where you work?” Stiles looks around in awe, “God, how are you so fit?!” He blanches as soon as the words are out of his mouth, “Not that I’ve noticed you’re particularly—I mean you know you’re—can I please get a cinnamon roll before I burst into flames?” He shuts his eyes, “Hopefully that’s gonna happen, any second now.”

Derek swipes him one up, twists the bag easily and steps over to the till.

“You still waitin’ on that lightning strike?”

Stiles opens one eye, “I figure I’ve had my luck with lightning striking, to be honest.” He gazes at Derek steadily for a moment, and then rolls back his shoulders, “So, cakes are your thing? I did wonder.”

“If _cakes_ were my thing?”

“No! I mean, yes, what your thing _was_.” Stiles shrugs, “I pictured something with books,” he waves at Derek’s apron, “Normally, with the glasses and the sweaters.”

“You thought I was a boring, dry, librarian?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, leans against the counter, “I don’t think boring or dry sprang to mind.”

“I work in an art gallery,” Derek says after a moment of intense staring. He doesn’t know why his voice sometimes refuses to work around Stiles, it’s honestly an embarrassment. “This is my sister’s bakery.”

“Oh, man,” Stiles picks up his bag, digs inside, “Laura?”

“You know her?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles grins, “I’m a regular here.”

“You don’t get enough sugary stuff at your shop?”

“Nope,” Stiles takes a huge bite, and Derek watches icing drop off his lower lip, Stiles catching it with his tongue. Derek is… suddenly too hot and his pants are maybe getting a little tight. “God, I always forget how good these are,” Stiles moans. His eyes flutter shut, tongue poking out to lick at more icing. It’s like watching _porn_. Derek finds himself gripping the counter top to prevent himself from getting a fist in Stiles’ t-shirt and yanking him over it.

“I missed these going home for Christmas,” Stiles says dreamily, “Mmm, tell Laura I said hi?” He starts to back out of the shop, Derek’s never wanted anyone to remain in his presence more. He should say something—do something—buy a ring, or a camera or—

“Hey,” he grabs another cinnamon roll without thinking, tosses it into a bag, “Keep one for later.”

Stiles takes the bag, eyes him suspiciously, “Are you trying to bribe me into giving you more free candy?”

“No,” Derek snorts, “I don’t want anymore free candy.”

“Did someone say free candy?” Laura sails into the front of the store, grins and waves at Stiles, “Of course, the man assisting my brother in ensuring my kids have diabetes to deal with when they’re teenagers is you. I should have known with your sweet tooth.”

Stiles’ face falls, “No, I would never—I was only—”

“Kidding, Stiles,” she smiles fondly at him, “God, your face was a _picture_.”

Stiles flushes, and looks down at his feet bashfully.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Derek chides.

Laura shrugs, “You’re the one with a gigantic crush on the kid that keeps my cinnamon roll profits through the roof.”

Derek really hopes Stiles was too busy with said cinnamon roll to hear that.

“I gotta go open up,” Stiles jerks a thumb at the door. “See you around?”

“Derek’ll see you on Saturday,” Laura says cheerfully, yanking out a tray of hot brown bread. “Like every Saturday.”

“I like routine,” Stiles says blithely, winking at Derek before leaving as suddenly as he arrived.

“I hate you,” Derek says to his sister, turning on his heel and marching into the back of the shop.

“Hey, can I make your wedding cake?”

“Hate you!”

*

Derek spends the entire week systematically thinking about Stiles, and then forcing himself to stop thinking about Stiles. He was a ridiculous kid in a costume, and Derek is a grown man that shouldn’t be developing crushes on people he’s only met a handful of times.

Erica stops by the gallery on Friday, and after tapping round on her very high heeled boots, slumps over by his desk and begins whining that they never go out any more.

“I have a job,” Derek murmurs around the pen in his mouth, “Bills, rent, a bed time.”

“God, I feel so old just listening to you,” she cries. “Boyd’s away for the night, please, Derek, let’s go out.”

Derek considers her for a moment, glances back at the complicated time squares he’s been filling in for next week’s displays. “One drink,” he agrees as his eyes begin to sting. “One.”

He should have known better.

They hit CocoTang, and Erica lines them up a variety of pink and purple shots named _Love Hearts_ , and presents Derek with a drink called _Dragon Tattoo_ that makes his vision blur.

Erica sips on a Kumquat Mojito, watching some girls dance. There’s a redhead with amazing hips swaying to the beat, and behind her a kid with a bright smile is twisting and turning with her. He isn’t even half managing to keep up, but she doesn’t seem to mind, leaning into his hands whenever he catches her round the waist, and letting him twirl her.

“So, how’s the gallery?”

Derek grins against the rim of his glass, “Do you really wanna talk about my gallery, or do you wanna dance?”

“I want to dance,” Erica shrugs, kinks an eyebrow at him, “But, I also wanna check in with my best friend.” She reaches forward and pinches his cheek, “You’re so precious to me, Derek.”

“Get off,” he grunts, but he can tell he’s smiling as he pulls her hand away. When he looks up, there’s a ridiculously gorgeous guy leaning against the bar, eyeing Derek. He casually glances behind him, just in case, and then looks back. As soon as he does the guy grins, lifts his drink to Derek before disappearing into the crowd.

“Well,” Erica exclaims, “Look at that. You _do_ still have it.”

“I never lost it,” Derek says drily, “I just tamp down on it to make you feel better.”

“Please,” Erica slithers out of her chair, losing her jacket and shaking out her hair as she does so. She smirks down at him, and he’s fairly sure eighty percent of the club are staring at the beautiful goddess that just appeared out of nowhere. “I own it.”

“I concede,” Derek stands, gestures to the dance floor, “Lead the way.”

Normally, it takes a hell of a lot longer to get Derek to do anything more than bob his head sporadically to music. The rum, however, was potent, and he’s more than happy swaying along to the beat as Erica grinds around him. He looks up, occasionally, to see the same attractive guy from before watching him from his own table. It’s kind of nice, knowing there’s someone in here watching Derek, rather than Erica. Not that he can fault them. He can’t help but keep checking in on him, though, wondering vaguely if he recognizes him. He’s very drunk, though. His vision has definitely been compromised. When the guy laughs, he throws his head back and reveals a long, pale neck Derek would like to put his mouth to.

“Who’re you checking out?” Erica calls above the music, twisting casually to glance over her shoulder.

The guy suddenly busies himself with his beer, and doesn’t make eye contact again. Derek sighs.

“He probably thinks we’re together.”

“And that you’re making eyes at him while your girlfriend’s oblivious?” Erica beams at him, grabs his hand and makes him twirl her, “For _shame_.”

Derek shakes his head at her ruefully, watches as the guy leaves, casting a last glance towards Derek. Their eyes meet, and Derek stops dancing altogether when he realizes he does know him, and that from the lights of the door he can see his face in all it’s gorgeous everything.

“It’s fucking Gene Wilder,” he blurts out. Stiles must see the recognition cast across his face, grins and winks at Derek again, and god he has to stop doing that. It makes Derek’s brain short circuit.

“Oooh, yeah,” Erica turns to watch him leave, “Hate to see him leave so early, but damn, love to watch him go.”

Derek elbows her towards the bar. “You’re married.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate.” Erica waves over the bartender, orders them four Flying Daggers, “You should definitely appreciate him, _all night long_.”

The last thing Derek remembers is feeling his cheeks flush, glowering at his best friend, and the taste of chilies burning the back of his throat.

At eleven thirty, Erica staggers out of the bedroom and kicks at where Derek’s found himself on the floor.

“Wreck, get up.”

“Mmf, g’way.”

“Come on,” Erica wheedles, flops down beside him and drags her fingers through his hair. “Derek, I’m hungry!”

“Go get food, then.”

“Tradition,” she protests, “We get fucked, then we go revitalize with disgustingly greasy breakfasts.”

“God, how did you ever convince Boyd to marry you,” Derek groans, pushing back the quilt Erica had very thoughtfully thrown on him last night.

“I always wondered how you befriended him in the first place,” she says smiling fondly. “I guessed it was something about you both being stoic and uninterested in everything bringing you together.”

“Sounds about right,” Derek yawns, reaches for his sweater and glasses. “Alright, where d’you wanna go for breakfast?”

Erica hums, “Usual place. Also, there’s this really awesome candy store two blocks from here, and I could totally eat my weight in gummy bears, right now.”

Derek tenses, looks at her suspiciously. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“It’s only been around since Halloween,” Erica shrugs, “Guy was dressed up as the Hulk the last time I went in.”

“That… sounds about right,” Derek pushes himself to a stand, clutches his stomach, “Oh, fuck, hold on.”

“If you’re gonna hurl do it in the bathroom,” Erica kicks his feet as he passes, “No, Derek not in the sink!”

By the time they’re finished in Sol’s, Derek feels a little more like a normal human being again. He’s still not walking at his usual pace, though, sluggishly blinking in the sunlight, and Erica dances ahead, always better at dismissing a hangover than he’s ever been. She was annoying as hell about it at college; some mornings he’s pretty sure he was dying and Erica was casually studying, or straightening her hair like she hadn’t even been out the night before.

“Come on, slow poke,” she digs her fingers into his side, drags him through the door of the candy store.

Stiles had clearly been sleeping, sprawled out over the counter, and he jerks to as they come in.

“Woah, hey, greetings and salutations,” he says weakly, trying to smile at them. His hair’s stuck down on one side, and he looks like Derek feels.

“Good night?” Derek asks casually.

“I threw up on my best friend’s floor and then passed out in his bed,” Stiles gives them another half smile, it’s kind of adorable. “I don’t think he was happy.”

“Derek threw up in my sink,” Erica tells him brightly. Derek widens his eyes at her in horror and she shrugs, pats him on the back. “What? You did.”

Stiles is watching them warily, and Derek jerks his thumb at her, “Worst friend in the world.”

“Oh,” Stiles’ face brightens, and then he sits down heavily, “Man, my stomach cannot cope with emotions today.”

“And what kind of emotions would those be?” Erica leans down on the counter top, smiles wickedly at him, “Butterflies?”

“I can see how you’re an awful friend,” Stiles drawls. “Can I actually help you find something?”

“I don’t know,” Derek muses, “Can you?”

Stiles huffs a laugh, peeks up at him over his arms, “Touché.”

“I know what I want,” Erica says firmly, heading towards the wall of fruit gums.

“Do you?” Stiles lifts an eyebrow at Derek, and Derek resists the urge to push his hair back from his face.

“Sugar,” he says faintly.

“You leadin’ me into an easy one, there,” Stiles groans, pushes back his chair, “Don’t while I’m hung-over. I need to be on my game with someone as attractive as you.”

Derek laughs, startled, and follows Stiles across the shop. Stiles clambers up a ladder he’s got leaning against the shelves, “Here.” He tosses a package of some paper like shapes to Derek.

“Flying saucers?”

“Personalized,” Stiles jumps the last couple of rungs of the ladder, staggers a little and Derek catches his arm without thought. He straightens up, blinks across at Derek and then smiles brightly, “Thanks!”

Derek swallows, ducks his head and looks back at the flying saucers, “So, these all say Derek?”

“Yep,” Stiles rocks back on his heels, shoves his hands in his pockets and grins at him, “Thought you’d like them.”

“I’m overwhelmed with excitement,” Derek says drily.

“Sure you are,” Stiles takes Erica’s gummy bears to the counter, pops them in a bag, “Anything else?”

“Your number,” Erica says sweetly and Derek chokes on his tongue.

“Oh—” Stiles’ eyes flit to Derek, “I’m not really—”

“I was asking for Derek,” Erica laughs.

“Erica,” Derek darts to the counter, steps in front of her, “I’m sorry,” he blurts out to Stiles. “She’s very hungover, doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“’S’cool,” Stiles shrugs, “I’d give it you, if you asked.”

“I—oh—okay.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow expectantly, and Derek stares back at him. Erica elbows him and Derek hisses, “I’m not going to do it with you staring at me!”

“Fine, I’ll wait outside!”

“Christ, no,” Derek huffs, grabbing the bag off the counter and pulling an apologetic face at Stiles. “I’m sorry, I really want to—I can’t—” he gestures at Erica, and then runs for the door like his ass is on fire.

*

“Uncle Derek!”

“Oof.”

Derek groans as Faye starts jumping on his legs, “Uncle Derek, it’s my birthday!”

“I know,” he catches her feet, leaps up so he’s standing on the bed and dangles Faye upside down. Faye starts shrieking with laughter as Derek sways gently, pretending to let her go and then throwing her up in the air. “You feel much older than last year,” he pulls her up until she’s at eye level, smiles at her, “How old are you now? Seventeen?”

“Seven!” Faye waves her fingers in his face, “I’m seven!”

“My mistake,” he jumps off the bed with her, swings her into his arms, “And what did you get for your birthday?”

“A bike! A pink one!”

“That sounds exactly like mine,” he shakes his head as they pad into the living room, “You’ll have to take it back. We can’t have the same bike.”

“No!”

“Yep, I won’t have it. I’m older than you, I get to keep my pink bike.”

Laura sniggers into the coffee she’s helped herself to from Derek’s cupboard. Alex flies at Derek’s legs. He pretends to collapse under the weight of them both, and they yell excitedly.

“You’re putting that key to good use,” he tells Laura dryly.

She smirks, “You gave it to me, honey. Besides, Edward was trying to set up for the party and huffing at anyone that came near him. Honestly, he’s more high maintenance than _you_. We needed to get out of the house.”

“Can we go the candy store?” Faye looks up at Derek with pleading eyes, “Please?”

Fuck.

Derek hasn’t been back in a week, constantly avoiding the street, any chance of running into Stiles at bars, Laura’s bakery, the shops. He’s been living on tinned spaghetti and take out for six days.

It’s not that he doesn’t want Stiles’ number, it’s the opposite. And he didn’t need his best friend to do the talking for him. He was building up to it! Now, he looks like an idiot and Stiles probably thinks Derek was outright rejecting him, running off, and ruining every thing.

Because, Derek might have learnt a few social cues in his time, but he’s still an absolute moron when it comes to the shit he really wants.

“Okay,” he says grudgingly, trying to look excited for Faye. “Sure, after the party. Lemme go get dressed and we can go help your daddy set up for the party.”

“Actually, I think Stiles’d prefer it if you went in looking just like that,” Laura says lightly, turning over the page of the newspaper, “He’s been moping all week. He bought three pieces of rocky road yesterday.”

Derek swallows, and then huffs because his sister doesn’t know _anything_. Stiles could just be sad it’s February and still cold outside.

“You might need to grovel with your shirt off.”

“Laura!”

“Hey, Edward’s had to do it before,” she glances at her nails, “And for less than running away from _asking for my number_.”

“You—” Derek flushes, “Who told?”

“Erica,” Laura rolls her eyes, “Stiles didn’t say a word about your idiocy, he just said you seemed like you’d had a change of heart about something. And, I’m pretty sure we both knew he was only being obtuse because I’m your sister and he’s nice and loyal and worth giving a crap about.”

Derek gives her a jerky nod. “Yeah, I know.”

“Great,” Laura waves a hand at him, “Go put clothes on anyway. I don’t want you scaring any of my kid’s friends with your hairy chest.”

“Ha ha, like a gorilla,” Faye points out excitedly.

Derek frowns hard, sticks his chin out and makes a gorilla noise, sweeping Faye and Alex up in his arms and running round the living room with them. Laura starts making eggs. With Derek’s kitchen appliances. And Derek’s eggs.

The party is loud, very pink, and filled with screaming children. Derek spends most of it on the bouncy castle with Boyd, jumping at the demand of any six year olds who want to go higher.

Faye falls asleep in Cora’s lap, tiara slipping until Cora puts it on her own head, and Alex is passed out surrounded by confetti and balloons.

Erica beckons Derek over, “I’m sorry if I fucked things up last week,” she says sincerely.

Derek shakes his head, “You didn’t do anything except try to be supportive.”

“And meddlesome,” Cora points out.

Erica flips her off, and then glances back at Derek, “She does have a point.”

Derek shrugs, “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You are a glaciar,” she says fondly, “When it’s something you really want. I just—”

“Wanted to help, I know,” Derek smiles at her and Erica throws her arms around his neck, kisses his cheek.

“Hey, hey!” Boyd jogs over, wraps his arms around both of them, “Lemme get in on this.”

Erica shrieks as they lift her off her feet, and swats at both their shoulders on the way down.

“Assholes,” she taps Derek’s cheek, “You gonna go get him then?”

Derek shoves his hands in his pockets, “I don’t—”

“Derek, for god’s sake,” Laura groans, throws one of her shoes at his head, “If I have to deal with those sad beautiful eyes of Stiles’ all next week, I will kill you!”

“He does have pretty eyes,” Erica agrees thoughtfully.

“Both of you shut up about his eyes,” Derek snaps, yanking on his jacket.

“Look how fast he started moving,” Cora teases.

“I’m going home.”

“Liar,” all three girls say together.

Boyd shakes his head, “I’m real glad you’re leaving me with these ladies, Derek, thanks.”

“He’s gotta go get his man, baby,” Erica punches his shoulder, “Shut up and support him.”

“Fine,” Boyd lifts a fist in the air at Derek, “Go team.”

“Thanks,” Derek says flatly. Boyd smirks, and Derek grins back; he gets it. He always does.

Before he leaves he steals a piece of the bright pink birthday cake, and shoves it in his pocket.

*

It’s almost dark by the time he talks himself out of the car, and into standing in front of Stiles’ shop. The cake in his pocket is going to start sticking to his hand soon, and he sighs at his own chicken shit behavior, marches inside.

Stiles looks up, pen in his mouth that he slowly removes as he and Derek look at each other.

“Hi,” Derek says after a moment.

“Greetings and salutations,” Stiles says flatly, “What can I do for you?”

“I—” Derek takes a step towards him, “I bought cake.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up, “Cake?”

“Birthday cake, for you,” Derek pushes on, his cheeks flushing and he tugs his glasses off nervously. “Look—”

“Wait,” Stiles holds up a hand, and Derek falters, feels his stomach drop. “If you’re going to lead with _you have cake_ , and not give any further information, I’m going to be thinking about the cake instead of what you’re going to say. If you’re going to let me down gently then you should at least give the cake first.”

Derek almost laughs, “Oh, okay,” he pulls the cake out of his pocket, “Here. It’s a little squashed.”

“Oh my god, it’s pink!” Stiles cries delightedly as he unwraps it. He sucks in a loud breath, and then looks up at Derek, “Okay, go, lemme down.”

“I’m not here to let you down,” Derek says stiltedly, clenches his fingers into fists, “I’m—I don’t do this a lot. I didn’t want the first time I asked you out to be because of some high school goading tactic from my best friend.”

“I feel like she’d get on really well with a friend of mine,” Stiles says thoughtfully, “She likes to mortify me at every opportunity possible, too.”

“They should never meet,” Derek says hastily.

Stiles hums, searching in a drawer before brandishing a fork at Derek, “Ah ha!”

Derek jerks back, “You… going to stick that in my eye?”

“No,” Stiles beams, “I’m gonna eat the cake,” he waves a spoon in his other hand, “You want in?”

“Okay,” Derek says slowly, eyeing him cautiously, “Is this—I was gonna ask if you wanted to go out. On a date. With me.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles nods, sticking his fork into the icing and holding it up in the air, “The way I see it, we can eat the cake here, and that counts as a date. Then we can walk down the street and grab dinner, I like sushi, but I’m partial to tacos, date two. Then I’ll buy you coffee, walk you home, and hey, date three! Guess what? I think three dates is plenty enough, and I’d really like to make out with you a lot, maybe put my hands on your dick. Unless, you like to wait?” He puts the fork in his mouth, pulls it out minus the icing and blinks innocently at Derek.

Derek makes a strangled sound, “I’m okay with just eating the cake, actually, that's uh, enough.”

“What do they say about getting some sugar in you?” Stiles smiles brightly at him, hands him the spoon, “I think you’re sweet enough, but—”

Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’, steps right up to the counter, and kisses him over the top of it. Stiles hums in surprise and then puts down his utensils, fists his hands in Derek’s jacket and yanks him closer. He tastes like icing, like something sweet and stupidly delicious. Derek can tell he’ll be addicted to it faster than any candy or anything else he’s ever tasted before.

“I could always _pour_ some sugar on you,” Stiles says after a moment, lips brushing against Derek’s and making him shiver in anticipation.

“You’re gonna give me cavities,” he complains.

“It’s cool, I have a really good dentist,” Stiles leaps over the counter and wraps his arms around Derek, “This is for real, right? Erica didn’t like beat you up and force you to come back here, did she?”

“No,” Derek laughs, sliding his hands round Stiles’ waist and tugging his t-shirt up a little to get at skin, “Honestly, I was hooked by the purple coat.”

“Ugh,” Stiles leans back to smirk, “You got a thing for Gene Wilder I should know about?”

Derek rolls his eyes, leans back in to kiss him again, “Nah, thing for everything _you_.”

Stiles smiles again, and it’s just as breathtaking up close. “Hey, I had something for you, if you ever came back again and you know, were still not totally aware how into this I was open to being,” Stiles darts away, opens the door behind the counter. He comes out brandishing a chocolate heart with _Be Mine_ written across it.

“Whaddya reckon?”

Derek turns it over in his hands feeling warm from his head to his toes, “’S’best seller for sure.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Stiles weaves back into his space, curves his hands around Derek’s hips and brushes his fingers against his skin, “But, you’re the only one I’m _giving_ it to.”

Derek kisses him again.

*

They eat the chocolate heart in bed, but not before Derek’s taken a picture of it.

*

Cora tells them they rot her teeth just looking at them. Stiles blows bubblegum at her and kisses Derek. He makes Derek push him round the shop on his ladder; has a different costume for every holiday; runs around the back yard with Faye and Alex; teases Erica; steals the covers, tastes like cinnamon more days than not; runs his fingers through Derek’s hair when they talk; holds Derek’s hand like it’s something special; argues with him about doing the crossword in pen; introduces Derek to his dad as his _something sweet_. Derek thinks the way he looks at Stiles is probably the same way some of his customers look at art, like they’re falling in love, overcome with, stricken by it, entranced with it, and nothing will ever be as beautiful.

It’s pretty damn sweet.


End file.
